


we’ll return when we drift apart

by softtofustew



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 21:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17711975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softtofustew/pseuds/softtofustew
Summary: chan remembers a time when the three of them first met by the beach; or the one where it takes them fifteen years for the trio to realise how much they love each other, told in the eyes of the oldest.





	we’ll return when we drift apart

**Author's Note:**

> title from broken compass by 3racha //
> 
> — finally got around to posting this baby!!  
> — hope you enjoy it :)

all chan remembers is the lulling crash of waves against the sandy shore. his hands are itchy with bits of crusty sand as he moulds a mound out of the coastline. it’s flat, a sore example of a sandcastle, but chan pays no mind as he continues humming and patting the top of his sandcastle to keep it stable. 

all chan remembers are two boys waddling over, buckets of sand in their hands. one with a pointy chin and dark hair and dark eyes and dark swim shorts, the other chubby with bright eyes and bright yellow swim shorts patterned with ducks. he remembers, ever so faintly, a scratchy voice that asks tentatively, “can we play with you?”

all chan remembers is that’s how they meet - waves against the shores of a dingy beach, wind fluttering in the breeze, sweeping chan’s dark fringe off of his forehead as he watches the two boys look back down at him, straight in the eye.

 

— 

 

fifteen years later, chan knocks against the door to a little house by the beach, a habit he’s grown accustomed to. his duffel bag is on the floor of the porch leading up to the front entrance, stuffed with only a few clothes, toiletries, sunglasses, and swim shorts for days. “oi, sungie! binnie! open up already!”

the sheer humidity of the day seeps through his tank top. the sweat on his arms glistens under the glazing sunlight. from inside the beach house, there’s a small scuffle, a loud crash and footsteps thumping against the wooden planks. _ thumpthumpthumpthump _ , two pairs of feet. at last, the door is wrenched open to reveal two pairs of eyes staring back at chan.

warmth seeps through the fabric of his tank top, but this time chan feels it all the way to his toes, curling on the floor at the sight of them. jisung’s surely shot up at least another inch, close to changbin’s measly 167 centimetres. his hair’s dyed an ash blonde, dark roots peeking out from his scalp. “oi, channie. we’ve been waiting for-fucking-ever,” he grumbles.

changbin thumps him on the head. he looks mostly the same; perhaps his shoulders have gotten broader, perhaps they haven’t. either way, chan still feels his heartbeat in his throat. “c’mon. just throw your stuff into the guest room and hurry up. the others are at the coastline already.”

“well, i’m  _ sorry _ i got caught in traffic!”

“that’s what you said the last time too, city boy,” jisung prods, earning a slap on the back from chan as he shuffles into the beach house. the cozy space is still all the same - the couch is new, though, but chan knows they won’t be spending too much time on there. 

grinning, chan does as told, flinging his duffel bag onto the bed of the guest room and stripping out of his corduroy pants. he’s only a little embarrassed when he catches changbin still at the doorway, arms crossed as he waits for chan to shimmy up his swim shorts. “how’s uni for you, city boy-”

“-just because i live in the city and  _ you _ don’t, doesn’t mean that that’s my nickname,” chan rolls his eyes. he’s only said this at least three dozen times.

changbin smirks, eyes twinkling. “whatever, city boy. i hope you haven’t forgotten how to be a sore loser at beach volley, by the way.” chan slaps the guy’s ass on his way out, and all he hears as he walks out the door is the tinkling sound of changbin’s laughter behind him. 

 

— 

 

chan remembers a time when he’s twelve, changbin eleven, jisung ten. after a round of chase and picking seashells by the shore - cheesy, but especially hilarious when changbin found a little crab and held it up for jisung to scream at - the three are exhausted, laying across the beach mat they’d laid out hours ago. their parents have long gone for dinner, but the three hadn’t wanted to pry into what jisung pens as  _ the old folks buffet of eternity _ , so they’d hurriedly stuffed some food down their throats and headed right back to the beach.

the sun dips just below the waters now, hues of pink and orange and red and yellow an explosion of colours across the evening sky. chan tilts his head to the side to see jisung pouting and staring up at the clouds. “that one looks like changbinnie,” jisung points at one.

changbin scoffs. “what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“it’s all pointy and stuff.”

as changbin fumes, the other two giggle at jisung’s joke. “well, i’ll have you know that people  _ like _ my pointy chin!”

“like who?” chan teases.

changbin sits up straight, puffs his chest out a little. “there’s this really pretty girl in my class, yerin. she told me i looked really handsome on the day of our stage production-”

“-ohh, you mean the one we did on merlin?-”

“-yeah!” changbin nods his head. “she  _ specifically _ said she liked my chin.”

chan watches them, the both of them engrossed in their conversation, which somehow leaps from changbin’s sharp chin to his hopeless audition as merlin, fake goatee and accent and all. for a moment, he feels the distance between him and the two town boys, having grown up together next door with each other, having seen each other for every day of their lives ever since they’d first met. a rushing river separates him from the other two, waves crashing against the riverbanks.

but then there’s a bridge, forging a way for him to cross to the other side. “channie, did you have any school productions? did you try out for any?”

chan smiles softly. “weeell, we had peter pan! i auditioned for it.”

“as peter pan?” jisung quizzes.

“as captain hook.”

the pair of them burst out into giggles. “ _ you _ ? captain hook?”

a pang of pain pierces through chan’s heart. “why? it’s not like i can’t act, can i?”

jisung pokes chan’s side, grinning. “‘s that you’re waaaayyy too good-looking to act as someone as moldy and crusty as captain hook,” he comments casually, shrugging. “you should act as peter pan. i bet he’s handsome; that’s how he could lure wendy into following him to neverland.”

chan blushes deeply. “you think i’m good-looking?” he asks.

the third of them widens his eyes in mock horror. “chan! how can you say that? you do look good.” changbin shakes his head in disbelief. “if i were a girl, i bet i would totally fall for you.”

“ewwww,” jisung mumbles, kicking at the older’s shin. “why can’t you just be a boy and fall for him?”

“‘cause i’m best friends with chan,” changbin answers back nonchalantly. “it’d be, like, liking a big brother of mine.”

“true,” jisung agrees, quietly.

chan stares at the both of them for a while, staring at the light that throws shadows across their faces: jisung’s chubby cheeks, changbin’s angular face. when he turns back to the sunset, the warmth of it overlooks them all, the sun slowly dipping lower and lower and lower, until only a sliver of it can be seen.  __ he remembers a quote from something he’s read before, a while ago. _i told the sun that i was glad, i’m sure i don’t know why_ , is all chan thinks before jisung pours his bucket of ice cold seawater down his spine.

 

— 

 

the somewhat clear seawater glistens under the afternoon sun. chan pulls his shirt off and over his head, tossing it onto the lounge chair he’s occupying, following hot on jisung’s heels. jisung’s figure is still lithe after all these years, slender even. a small dollop of fat sits on his tummy, bouncing a little with every step. chan averts his gaze back to the seawater, its clarity and all.

he dips a toe into the water. despite the warmth of the sunshine, it’s cold as ever. “i miss the sea,” he murmurs, loudly enough for jisung to catch on and swivel around to face the older. his eyes are wide, lips pursed into a thin line. 

“see something you like, huh?” jisung teases lightly, before taking a few running steps and submerging himself into the cool sea. chan watches the taut muscles in the other’s calves flex and relax with his every step, before his body disappears behind a splash of water.

chan’s about to take a dive himself when all of a sudden, someone shoves him from behind. shocked, he falls face-first into the sea with a deafening  _ splash! _ salty seawater drizzles along his tongue as he takes in a mouthful, spewing it out in disgust the moment he resurfaces. “what the  _ fuck _ , changbin?” chan howls, but his tone is playful - because who could stay angry at changbin of all people?

especially not when changbin smirks, hands folded across his chest as he stands by the edge of the sea. his swim shorts hang dangerously low on his toned hips, hugging the girth of them. chan tears his gaze away from them to narrow his eyes at the offender.

“just wanted to remind the city boy how cold the water here is,” changbin shrugs, because submerging himself into the waters. all three of them bop up and down with the weak currents, just three boys wading amongst the ice cold waves.

chan feels something brush his inner thigh. surprised, he yelps aloud, which only makes jisung giggle. the younger waves something that looks like a stick at him, still giggling. “still as sensitive as ever, huh?”

flustered, the older wades over to tackle jisung, who screeches for help. changbin joins in, tickling both of their sides under the waters until chan joins jisung in to plead for mercy, until their fingers turn grubby, until the old man by the beach curses at the three of them to  _ stop doing inappropriate shit under the water, it’s a public place, you freaks! _ (chan won’t lie by saying that he’s never thought about it before, about the stick brushing against his inner thigh being jisung’s deft fingers, about the tickles by his side being changbin’s soft kisses. he keeps that to himself for now, instead stumbling out of the seawater alongside the other two.)

later, when they’ve bought elaborate drinks from the beach bar and have settled back into their lounge chairs, jisung throws an arm over his eyes, groaning. “the sun’s so fucking shiny today,” he whines.

changbin rolls over in his lounge chair to face both jisung and chan, who’s sat by the far end. “yo, even city boy here hasn’t once complained about the sun since he’s come here. you tan under this sun every other day, stupid.”

as the words leave the other’s lips, chan’s eyes unconsciously graze along jisung’s tanned skin. truth be told, his skin is a soft honey, the colour of the confectionary drizzled all over jisung’s body, from his arms and shoulders down to even his toes. where jisung is tanned, changbin is still pale, even under all the ultraviolet rays of the sun. pale skin, pale collarbones, pale pectorals. 

the both of them are maps chan explores, a luxury he only explores once a year. his eyes try and drink up all that is laid before him in the form of his two close friends.

jisung yawns, rolling over. his cheek crushes against the material of the lounge chair, and it’s fucking adorable, chan muses. “‘m tired, channie.”

before chan can think of a coherent response, he hears a scoff from changbin. “it’s only three in the afternoon, what the hell, man.”

“wanna sleep,” jisung pouts, shutting his eyes close. it’s a show for chan, eyelashes fluttering down to frame his closed eyes and pretty cheeks. it takes all of chan’s energy not to lean over and pepper those cheeks with gentle kisses. 

chan swallows his nerves down his throat. “we could duck back home first, then come back for dinner or something,” he suggests. the word  _ home _ for the little beach house by the shore is natural, something chan is accustomed to saying and something the other two are accustomed to hearing. it just feels right, because home is where his heart is. 

chan figures his heart’s where both of them are, even as changbin prods jisung awake and smacks his ass to get him up and screeching, even as changbin kicks at chan’s shin to get him to walk faster and even as jisung clings onto chan like a koala bear to its mother. even as chan wears his heart on his sleeve. where they are, chan’s heart is.

 

— 

 

chan remembers a time when he’s seventeen-turning-eighteen and drunk and sprawled out across the couch (the old one, with all the stuffing peeking out of day-old holes and scratches) as the three of them gaze at the tv. some comedy show is on, something about bowling and a failed date. to be frank, chan’s not entirely sure.

they’d found a stash of beer in the pantry, hidden away by changbin’s parents who technically owned the beach house (but lent it to the boys in the summers). since the other two hadn’t been as keen to get all drunk underaged, chan had swallowed the bait - hook, line, sink. had taken one gulp and hadn’t looked back.

halfway through the bottle, he’s drowsy already. his mind is a whirl as his eyes struggle to make out the technicoloured world of the television, the pixelated characters blurring out in his vision. yet, his senses are heightened - jisung’s hair tickles skin where he’s laid his head on chan’s shoulder; changbin’s knuckles brush skin where he’s laid his hand on chan’s thigh.

chan’s eyes tear away from the screen and to jisung first. the lights play with jisung’s chubby round face, glasses askew on his face. his lips are turned upwards into a small smile, tongue poking out and licking his lower lip.

when chan turns to look at changbin, the latter’s eyelids are drooping, tired from the day’s activities. his own lips are thin and opened in an ‘o’ shape, face thin and reedy and hinting at pigmentation, but nonetheless cute.

it’s no-brainer that chan likes the company of his two friends. but, drunk mind aside, chan notices the bloom of warmth slowly emanating outwards from his chest, his fingers digging into the back of the couch where his arm is thrown over jisung’s shoulder. all he needs to do is lean down a little, tilt his head and finally taste what jisung’s lips taste like, how soft they really are. or he could lean to the other side, cup a hand to changbin’s cheek and brush their lips together.

the sudden invasive surprises chan, but only mildly. he’s had these invasive thoughts for a while now, the way they’re pushed to the back of his head the second he thinks them, too guilty to think too deep about them. but now he’s drunk, and tired, and hopelessly in goddamn love with both his friends, that when jisung and changbin do fall asleep on either side of him, he kisses both of them, a peck on the cheek. quiet. secret.

in front of the three of them, the television flickers alive with colours, soundlessly, endlessly.

 

— 

 

in fact, they do resign to the beach house. as soon as they do, jisung flops down onto the couch in a sleepy haze, drowsy from the afternoon sun. in an attempt to tease the younger, changbin kicks at the couch, causing jisung to whine and yell for chan. “get him away from me, channie!” jisung screeches especially loudly when changbin goes in for the kill, tickling the boy’s sides.

standing at the doorway, chan loops his towel around his neck, shakes his head at the both of them. “you two are lost causes.”  _ not really, not really _ . “i’m going to shower and forget this problem even exists.” _ won’t forget, won’t forget. _

chan lets the bathroom door shut behind him, drowning out jisung’s pleas for help from the older tickling his sides. as soon as he locks the doorknob, he slumps his back against the wooden door, facing the tiled walls. he lets out a shaky breath -- his heart still palpitates a hundred miles an hour, nonstop. hasn’t stopped since he’d stepped foot into the beach house back again.

it’s getting really exhausting to keep this front up, chan supposes. he’s twenty-two this year, which technically means he’s been in love with his friends for a good six to seven years by now. to resist the urge to piggyback jisung home and pinch changbin’s cheeks in the not-so-no-homo way, the i-love-you way, is like keeping changbin from tickling jisung endlessly: tiring, stupid,  unnecessary. 

he swings the towel onto the hook, stripping himself down to bare skin before hanging his swim shorts onto the knob of the door. he steps into the shower, twists the knob open, and out streams lukewarm water. as he adjusts the temperature, he hears tinkling laughter somewhere out in the living room. chan tries, he really does, not to let it affect him, but a small smile somehow finds its way across his face.

lathering himself with bath soap, he screws his eyes shut and lets the sound of the water streaming from the shower head to drown out his thoughts. but every other minute, he can still hear those giggles from jisung and that nasally voice from changbin while he holds the other down, tickling. and then he imagines them in the springs and autumns and winters they don’t share as a trio, imagines changbin tickling jisung in those days.

he shakes his head, sighing deeply. even the water that runs over the expanse of his sun-kissed skin does no good in cleansing the thoughts from his head -- they’re ingrained in there, nowhere to run from chan’s mind. 

eventually, he turns the water off with great reluctance when his fingers begin to show signs of wrinkles. he towels himself off, pulls on a new pair of striped boxers, a tank top, basketball shorts with a faded nike logo by the hem. he’s about to wrench the door open noisily and let it creak like the squeaky door it is, when he notices the silence outside. 

no longer can he hear jisung’s little laughter, changbin’s satisfied glee. frowning, he opens the door ever so quietly a pin could be heard dropping. he drapes the towel around his neck before traipsing down the hallway and towards the living room. before he can shove the door open, he freezes at the sound of something else.

“binnie, stop it,” jisung’s voice is heard murmuring, but it’s different — not the _ stop tickling me, changbin, get your grimey hands off of me!  _ that chan has become so accustomed to. no, this is different, this is- “chan’s going to-”

“-chan won’t,” changbin whispers, and that’s when chan leans in to peek through the crack in the door and the doorframe. what he sees in that little sliver of light reminds him so much of that day ten years ago, by the sands, staring up at the skies of pointy clouds and pink hues.

the bucket of ice cold seawater sends the same shiver down the spine now as it did ten years ago. chan’s eyes widen a fraction at the sight of the both of them on the couch. jisung’s back is facing him at an angle, appropriate enough for chan to realise that jisung is sitting on the older’s lap, smiling down at the other, and changbin… well. changbin has his hands on jisung’s hips, holding him close as he leans in. it only takes chan a moment to realise that changbin’s pressing kisses along jisung’s collarbone. 

jisung whines, and it’s perhaps the softest, most fucking adorable thing in the whole wide world, chan supposes. his heart swells a little more. “he’s gonna find out-”

“-he’s showering-”

“-so?” chan senses a pout in jisung’s voice, which changbin kisses away with so much of a peck. “he might see us like this.”

“and?” changbin giggles, and it really is cute, it really is. “so what? i still get to kiss you, no?” he pulls jisung even closer, so much so that their chests are pressed against each other, so much so that jisung can plant a kiss atop changbin’s perfect nose. “you’re so cute, sungie.”

“speak for yourself, binnie.” 

if chan hadn’t restrained himself, he would’ve broken down crying on the very spot and blown his cover. but he’s twenty-two, in love with his two best friends, and still rational, so he shuffles down the hallway empty-hearted and throws open the guest room only to allow his big tears flow down, down, down his cheeks and plop onto the floor loudly.

the feel of the ice cold bucket of seawater down his spine is more of a constant than anything else right now, right here. chan knew it’d be wrong to wear his heart on his sleeve this whole fucking time, and now that he knows, does he regret anything?

 

— 

 

chan remembers a time when he’s nineteen and sober and in love with his best friends. they’re at the local diner bar by the beach, overlooking the waves crashing against the coastline quietly at low tide. the sunshine filters through the dusty windows, throwing confusing shadows against the grimy walls of the diner.

opposite him, jisung is feeding changbin a spoonful of mashed potatoes playfully. “say  _ ahhhhh- _ ”

“-shut the fuck up, jisung- get that  _ away _ from me-”

“-here comes to aeroplaaaaaane-"

“-for fuck’s sake,” changbin grumbles, but he still parts his lips, space big enough for jisung to promptly shove the metal spoon into his mouth, almost choking the older. “shit, ow! the metal collided against my fucking teeth.”

sighing, chan takes a bite out of his burger as he watches jisung curl up against changbin in an attempt to weasel a “you’re forgiven” out of him. “c’mon, binnie, you know jisung won’t stop till you forgive him. i don’t really want a broken recorder playing throughout the night today,” he pipes up around a mouthful of his chicken hamburger.

“fine, i  _ forgive _ you,” changbin enunciates dramatically, rolling his eyes before taking up the straw of his strawberry milkshake, but chan catches the ghost of a smile on the boy’s lips. his heart flutters a little at this, before stamping it down. he’s gotten quite numb to these sudden invasives, yearning to lean over and peck changbin on the lips so gently, feather-light.

jisung turns to look out the window. “summer’s ending soon,” he blurts out of the blue.

changbin snorts at this. “what’s with the sudden mood swing, dude?” he prods, all the while stealthily spooning some mashed potatoes up from the younger’s plate. if jisung notices, he doesn’t make an effort to reprimand the older; instead, his gaze remains fixated on the view outside, of the sun dipping below the horizon.

as if on instinct, chan tilts his head to stare outside, too. another summer, another end to this heart-wrenching year, he thinks to himself.

“channie, you’re starting uni this year, aren’t you?” jisung asks.

“yeah,” chan nods his head. his eyes haven’t strayed away from the rays of light, reflected and tossed upon the clear blue waters. “yeah.”

“music production?”

there’s a pause. “yeah.”

silence overtakes the three of them, the realisation of the years between them and the years spent together slowly sinking in. all there is the sound of utensils clinking together, the squeaking of sneakers and the flops of sandals against the tiled floors, the sizzling of the pan from somewhere inside the diner kitchen, the chatter of people all around them: children, teens, families. couples.

after biting down on his own burger, changbin swallows. “it’s really been seven years, huh,” he states calmly, no hint of a question mark in his words. “seven years of this.”

“you sound like you’re exhausted of us,” jisung teases.

changbin doesn’t look at the younger. instead, he stares straight into chan’s eyes, as if seeing the secret the older’s been suppressing for forever now, as if seeing him for the first time all over again. “well, i wouldn’t say that,” he muses, loudly enough for the both of them to hear.

when they’re strolling along the stone walkway back to the beach house later, chan feels an arm loop around his shoulder casually. expecting it to be jisung, he’s pleasantly surprised to find changbin’s fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt sleeve; jisung is to changbin’s other side. the comfort of the gesture is so homely and  _ natural _ , that chan almost leans into the younger. almost.

the rest of the night is a sort of blur. they crack open a few beers, sprawl themselves on the queen-sized bed that jisung and changbin share facing the mini telly in the bedroom. somehow, chan’s legs get tangled amongst the sheets and jisung’s slim legs, an arm around changbin’s shoulder. 

it’s a low-budgeted horror movie, the kind with ghosts on visible metal wires and unreliable green screens, but jisung is all the more petrified. so chan does it as naturally as he can: he loops his other arm around jisung’s shoulder, squeezing the little muscle upon his clavicle. “‘s just a movie, sungie,” he whispers against the shell of jisung’s ear. 

maybe it’s his imagination, but jisung shivers against the warmth of chan’s body.

changbin, on the other hand, is slowly giving in to the lethargy of the day. his head lolls back and against chan’s supporting arm, which is sure to fall asleep anytime soon. chan doesn’t mind, though. his fingers play with the little hairs at the nape of the younger’s neck, with the collar of changbin’s shirt.

soon enough, the credits begin to roll, but jisung is still too terrified to will himself to sleep. “channie?”

“yeah, sungie?”   


a melodramatic pause ensues. “can you hold me closer?”

chan’s heart stutters against his ribcage. “sure. d’you want to hold me?”

“can i?”   


chan relents, because despite always wearing his heart on his sleeve, despite knowing the consequences to follow after, he still lets jisung in, beckoning him to come closer so he can wrap his arm tighter around jisung. he rubs comforting circles along the small of jisung’s back, sings him a lullaby jisung has only heard when he was five.

this is home, chan thinks, as jisung slowly ebbs away into a deep slumber, breaths punctuated by the cutest of snores. nowhere is home unless chan comes back to the two of his closest friends in the whole fucking universe.

 

— 

 

“something smells good here.” jisung’s voice startles chan, who’s mourning over a boiling pot of ramyun, steam pouring into his eyes. he dreads to turn around and spot the hard evidence on jisung’s face, displayed for everyone to see: wide eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, tousled hair. _ it’s like he’s not even  _ trying _ to hide it, _ chan thinks sadly to himself.

as if on cue, changbin pokes his head inside, his hair donned into a sort of messy mohawk atop his head. “chan, are you cooking dinner?”

“yeah,” he croaks out, turning back to the boiling pot. his hands shake as he switches off the fire and finds three bowls and three pairs of chopsticks from the bottom drawer. his hand narrowly misses getting scalded against the hot metal. “just… come in.”

naturally, jisung plops into the swivel chair by the dining counter, eager to dig in. “woahhhhh, since when did chan become so good at cooking?” jisung jokes light-heartedly while giggling. chan’s not sure whether to kiss jisung or punch him in the face right now. 

“it’s literally just cracking open a packet of ramyun and pouring it into some boiling water. no offence, though,” changbin butts in, settling into the seat beside jisung.

chan doesn’t say a word as he sets down two bowls of ramyun before the both of them. he tries not to let whatever he saw affect his mood; he should be playing it off coolly, should be ignoring the situation at hand, but the green-eyed monster clawing at his heart does otherwise. “eat up,” he mutters coldly, tearing eye contact from the both of them.

knowing the oldest very well, jisung frowns. “you okay, chan?”

changbin catches on. “you look really… did you  _ cry _ ?” 

fuck. chan’s eyes are probably fucking bloodshot from all the tears he’s been rubbing out of them for the past one hour. “no,” he retorts. “it’s nothing.” he tries not to shatter the bowl of ramyun that he sets down before the remaining empty chair.

“chan…” jisung’s voice trails off.

“you can tell us anything, y’know,” changbin prods, raising his eyebrows, expecting for chan to relent and spill his guts out. “we’ll understand what’s going on, m’kay? what’s up?”

“i said it’s  _ nothing _ ,” chan enunciates, voice raised on its own account. it frightens jisung; he drops his chopsticks out of surprise, the metal clattering loudly as they crash to the floor. chan sighs, bending down to retrieve the pair of chopsticks before shuffling over to the sink.

yet, changbin persists, desperate for an answer of some sort. “chan, c’mon. we always tell each other stuff-”

“-maybe not now, binnie-” jisung whispers.

“-okay!  _ fine _ !” chan shouts, throwing the chopsticks into the sink in all his flared up temper. he turns around to face the both of them, capturing the right moment when both his friends, his closest friends, look shocked - even scared - of chan’s bursting outrage. “you’re asking me what’s going on with  _ me _ ? how about  _ you _ tell  _ me _ what’s going on with the both of you?” his chest heaves with tears, but he blinks them back. “i thought we told each other every fucking thing. and now here you go, shoving your tongues down each other’s throats behind my fucking back, like i’m just some shitty bystander? were you  _ ever _ going to tell me?” the tears are flowing down his cheeks now; he still makes no move to wipe them. “were you ever going to tell me that my two closest friends in the world were dating behind my own back? just because i’m not with you guys all year round, this is what i get?”

chan’s throat constricts around his words, and he can’t get any more out, not when changbin’s eyes are wide with shock, or when jisung’s whimpering and sobbing quietly. “i’m sorry if i sound stupid - you can tell me if i am-”

“-no, we… we just-”

“-no,  _ listen _ , changbin.” chan clamps him down with his firm tone. “but i’m not angry. I’m just-”  _ really fucking sad and heartbroken and i just want to hug the both of you- _ “really fucking tired of this. look, i just…” he cards a hand through his hair, exasperated. “i’m going to head to my room first, okay? maybe i should calm down first. ‘m sorry.”

without a moment’s hesitation, he stalks out of the kitchen, leaving jisung and changbin staring at each other, wide-eyed, their hearts thumping in unison, as unified as the beat drumming away under chan’s own chest.

 

— 

 

chan remembers a time when he’s twenty-one and wide awake and sweaty. the bedside clock reads 04:09, a time too early for him to be up. but a nightmare has eaten its way into his head, too real for it to be imaginary, too imaginary for it to be real, all at the same time. still, he shuffles out of his bed quietly, slippers shuffling against the wooden floors as he makes his way out of his single bedroom.

in the other room, chan opens the door slowly to reveal jisung spread out like an eagle on the bed, blankets ditched by his sides, to reveal changbin curled up into a ball, hugging a pillow tightly. the scene is so endearing that chan almost feels bad for waking changbin up.

noticing the sweaty hair matted across chan’s forehead, changbin blinks at the older. “nightmare?”

“yeah.”

such a simple answer, such a simple gesture beckoning chan to come closer, but his heart almost bursts into a million fragments as he sits on the edge of the bed, close to a very drowsy, very shirtless changbin. 

chan swallows thickly, before positioning himself carefully beside changbin. as if on instinct, the younger’s arm brushes along chan’s hip, wrapping him around his hold on him. all of a sudden, chan’s head is tucked into the crook of changbin’s neck, and he breathes in the musky scent of light sweat and vanilla body wash.

on the other side of the bed, jisung wakes up, too. “chan?”

his croaky voice sends a shiver down chan’s spine. “yeah, sungie?”

“what’re you doing here?”

instead of answering, changbin replies for him. “he had a nightmare.”

there comes an audible sigh from the other end. “c’mon. sit in the middle.”

that’s how chan eventually finds himself in between two boys, a changbin-chan-jisung sandwich. the closeness of the two is a hell and a heaven all at once, how chan’s skin tingles where jisung strokes the older’s hair absent-mindedly, where changbin embraces chan around his hip, where jisung presses a soft kiss against the curls of chan’s hair, where changbin blows raspberries along the skin of chan’s collarbones.

chan’s heart tingles where he finds himself here, home.  _ this is home. _

 

— 

 

for now, twenty-two-year-old chan is laid on his bed, facing up at the stark ceiling. he’s wiped his tears and calmed himself down, but frankly the guilt hasn’t been lifted from his heart, the weight hasn’t been lifted from his shoulders. his heart still burns with a thousand regrets, his body still trembles from the memory of his two friends’ astonished faces a little over an hour ago.

throughout his time holed up in his bedroom, he could hear them, hear them talking outside in hushed tones. at one time, chan could’ve sworn he heard changbin sob, but he’s not too sure. (it’s best for him not to know for now.)

the exhaustion of his outrage almost lulls him to sleep, if it hadn’t been for the door to his room creaking open.the squeak of it startles chan out of his daze. when his eyes dart to the door, he catches the both of them by the door. holding hands.

chan’s heart is numb with emotion. “hey,” he croaks out.

“hey,” jisung murmurs, followed by changbin’s hushed, “hi.”

tme seems to pause for a moment, a long, drawn-out moment, like smoke oozing out of a cigarette, until jisung tugs at changbin’s arm, willing for him to pad over to chan’s bed. jisung seats himself down daintily on chan’s bed, whereas changbin plops down heavily. both of them examine chan’s expression carefully, waiting for a sign to continue. “you okay now?”

chan shrugs a shoulder, stares up at the both of them, before shifting his weight to slowly sit up.

“‘m sorry about earlier,” he mumbles softly under his breath, before casting his gaze downwards. he doesn’t seem to catch jisung and changbin looking at each other momentarily, before changbin pokes his chin out at the younger as if to say  _ go on _ .

“look, channie,” jisung whispers. “don’t be sorry-”

“-maybe you guys just needed time to tell me. i shouldn’t have pushed the envelope. maybe you both thought it would’ve been awkward to tell me,” chan laughs dryly to himself, before continuing. “maybe you just wanted to tell me later, when the both of you were ready, and-”

his voice is cut off the second jisung places a forefinger gently below chan’s chin and props it up, their eyes meeting each other. jisung smiles softly, his crooked front teeth poking out cutely. “maybe. or maybe we just… wanted to tell you something else, too."

chan frowns. “what?”

jisung doesn’t say anything. instead, he inhales deeply before leaning in. chan’s eyes widen as soon as jisung’s lips press against his, the warmth of the lips he’s yearned to taste for forever now. chan makes a noise at the back of his throat before screwing his eyes shut. this isn’t actually happening. can’t be. shouldn’t be.

but jisung’s hands are  _ real _ , the way they run along the sides of his face to cup chan’s cheeks carefully, fingers tracing the bone there. chan reciprocates, hands rushing all along jisung’s sides to finally, finally weave his fingers into the hairs at the nape of jisung’s neck. his heart explodes, finally, the twisting in his gut unravelling after so long as he kisses into jisung’s lips. Jisung is eager, pliant, all saliva dribbling down the corners of his mouth. it should be disgusting, it should be a complete turn-off, but it makes chan want to kiss him even more.

all of a sudden, a hand finds its way along chan’s neck. when he pulls away, lips swollen, he stares wide-eyed into the eyes of his other friend. changbin smiles down gently at him. he’s moved over to chan’s side, kneeling on the mattress of the bed, before curling his hand fully around chan’s neck and reeling him in.

everything feels too much. the sensation of kissing changbin is quite like no other. chan groans into the other’s mouth as they kiss, long and torrid and drawn out. it kills everything in chan’s every fibre, the way changbin holds him close like he’s a priceless trinket, the way changbin laps his tongue across chan’s lower lip like a famished boy treading the waters. it kills everything that chan thinks as he kisses changbin back, a fantasy-turned-reality.

jisung, eager for more, brushes his fingers along chan’s side, easing them under the fabric of his shirt and wishing to explore. chan keeps kissing changbin, but the boy clambering into his lap is more than distracting enough for chan to lean back. 

changbin laughs at how desperate jisung is for chan’s attention. “you little brat,” he mutters, pecking jisung’s cheek affectionately. it’s the simplest gesture, yet chan melts at how soft the movement is.

eventually, the youngest of the three does manage to swing his leg around so he’s sat in chan’s lap, gazing at him. “channie,” he whines, leaning in for more kisses. and because it’s jisung, because it’s the most adorable boy to exist in chan’s world, chan gives in and cups the back of jisung’s neck to kiss him, to love him as much as the both of them love him.   
  


beside him, changbin runs a hand all along the smooth skin of chan’s arm, pressing kisses along chan’s jawline. that, coupled with jisung squirming into his lap and kissing him all too eagerly, makes chan feel overwhelmed with a thousand new emotions never felt before. he gasps when jisung nips at chan’s lower lip, chewing it softly before running his tongue along the bite. “jisung…”

jisung whimpers against chan’s lips, and it’s so fucking adorable, chan cries. he cries real tears that flow down his cheeks as jisung pouts against his lips. changbin swoops in for the kill, thumb brushing away chan’s cheeks before kissing the salty skin there. “you poor baby,” changbin murmurs, nuzzling his nose against chan’s cheek. “you okay, chan?”

chan’s head whirls. “y-yeah.” his chest heaves against jisung, the sensations all too much all at once. jisung keeps running his hands up and down chan’s thighs, the burn a storm in chan’s gut. “yeah, i’m okay.”

_ i’m better than okay _ , is what chan wants to say.  _ this is way better than okay. this is the best, really.  _

slowly, jisung leans his head against chan’s chest, closing his eyes. “we love you, chan,” he whimpers ever so gently. “we really love you. we were scared, that if we told you, and… and if you didn’t…”

“go slow, baby,” chan says, stroking jisung’s hair softly. the younger keens at this, grinning.

“we just… really, really love you. we really do.”

changbin settles beside chan, pulling him in for one more kiss against their lips. “jisung and i realised after we got together somewhere during spring. we kept saying that it just doesn’t feel right. we didn’t really know why…”

“... until near the summer. we realised that without you, there’s no home for us.”

chan cries again, breaking apart at the seams as he cries into changbin’s shirt. but jisung and changbin are here, ready to sew the fraying seams back together, solid and sure and secure. because this is the home they’ve built, because this is the love they’ve built, because this is the home with all its love that they’ll live in for a long, long time. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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